Leave Out All the Rest
by chaviv86
Summary: Jules is having a difficult time coping with Lew's death. Sam is having a difficult time coping with Jules's reaction. Set in Season 3. Currently On Hiatus... my muse has died along with Sam and Jules's on-screen relationship
1. Night

The microwave had been beeping for several seconds before Jules finally appeared in the kitchen and opened the door, silencing it. She reached in, pulled out the steaming mug from inside, and swung the microwave door closed again. Then she turned and trudged back into the living room.

"Tea's warm again?"

"Yeah." Jules settled herself back into the recliner that she had just vacated, and set the mug down on the coffee table next to her. Sam watched her with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you going to drink it now, or let it get cold again?"

Jules shot him an annoyed look and didn't answer. She merely curled tighter into her chair, tucking her knees in to her chest. Sam looked up from the sports magazine he was perusing and gave her a puzzled look.

"Wait a minute, since when do you drink tea? You've never – you don't like tea. Remember that time when you had a bad cold and I spent half my paycheck buying different flavors of tea so I could find one that you'd like, and you didn't even…" Sam trailed off when he caught the look on Jules's face. Her brow was creased and her lip stuck out in a pout that was all too familiar to him.

"I want tea," Jules said mulishly.

"So drink it," Sam suggested, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Instead of smiling in response, Jules's lip began trembling. She blinked rapidly and turned her face into the cushion beside her. The grin slid off of Sam's face, and he sighed. He halfheartedly picked up his magazine, then tossed it back onto the couch and sat up.

"Jules," he said gently. She didn't answer.

Sam rubbed his hands over his face, then leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. He studied the petite figure curled up on the recliner in his living room with soft affection and sympathy. She was so small, so delicate… so precious. The slender ring on her finger, adorned with the largest diamond Sam could afford, promised that she would always be his. His to love, his to cherish, his to protect… His to try to understand…

A soft sound interrupted his reverie. Jules was crying quietly. Sam stood and crossed the room. In one swift movement, he lifted Jules off of her seat, sat down in her place, and settled her on his lap. She looked up, startled, and her eyes, wet with tears, met his, bright with empathy. Jules made a brief attempt to dry her eyes, then gave up when more tears took the place of those she wiped away. She turned towards Sam instead, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest.

"It's okay, Jules," Sam murmured into her hair, stroking her back gently with his fingertips. "It's okay, sweetheart…"

Sam glanced over at the clock above the television.

_Ten-thirty. Right on schedule… actually, it was eleven o'clock last night. Close enough._

He sighed and gripped Jules closer as her sobs increased.

"Shh… it's okay, sweetheart," he whispered. "It's okay…"

_This is _not _okay. This is definitely not okay._

Sam's left hand continued to stroke Jules's back in a rhythmic motion, his right hand protectively around her waist. He found himself humming softly, the first song that meandered its way into his head. Perhaps he'd heard it on the radio during patrol today. Perhaps he'd heard it in the supermarket when he'd stopped to pick up dinner. Either way, it was playing in his head, and he sang it softly to his fiancé.

"_Look at the stars… look how they shine for you…"_ He rested his cheek on top of Jules's head, listening to her shuddering breaths. "…_And everything you do… yeah, they were all yellow_…"

Her shaking had subsided. She seemed to be listening to his soft singing. Encouraged, he continued.

"_I came along… I wrote a song for you… and all the things you do_…" His hand reached up to Jules's hair, gently smoothing it down. "…_And it was called yellow_…"

Jules adjusted her position on Sam's lap, turning her face sideways to rest against him. Sam looked down at her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes, his heart twisting in his chest. A lump formed in his throat, and he found it difficult to sing. When Jules looked up at him, though, her eyes searching his, he somehow managed to continue.

"_Your skin… oh yeah, your skin and bones… turn in… to something_ _beautiful_…" He resumed his stroking of her hair, gazing at her intently. "_Do you know… you know I love you so_…" Jules's eyes filled with tears again, but there was trust shining from her eyes rather than pain. "_You know I love you so_…"

It was twelve thirty when they went to bed. Sam tried to carry Jules – she was fast asleep in his arms – but she woke up as soon as he lifted her and insisted that she walk on her own. Sam knew better than to be surprised or hurt by Jules's independence – he knew and loved her too well for that. Instead he carefully set her down and followed her into his bedroom. She rummaged through his t-shirt drawer for nightwear – probably looking for that grey tee of his that she liked – and Sam headed into the bathroom, pulling off his tear-soaked shirt and chucking it into the hamper as he did.

When he emerged five minutes later, Jules appeared to be sleeping. He paused for a moment, gazing at her fondly. How could he not – she lay in his bed, wrapped in his linens, wearing one of his shirts…

_I'm so freakin' lucky to have her,_ he thought for the thousandth time as he carefully climbed in to bed, nestling himself next to her sleeping form. He gently laid an arm across Jules, closing his eyes.

He opened them again after a few moments.

_This can't go on, _he thought bleakly. _This crying, this – this can't go on. She's –she's suffering too much…_

His eyes, wide and anxious, gazed unseeingly at the wall.

_I'm going to talk to Dr. Ruth tomorrow. This can't go on._

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

**Dormant author, roused back into consciousness by new Flashpoint episodes. If the show won't give me Sam/Jules, I'll just have to write my own…**

**Reviews are apple pies =)**


	2. Day

**Author's Note: Prior to this story, Jules has switched to Team Four (which is how she and Sam were able to date). See "Chasing Pavement" for background and juicy details.**

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Sam released the metal bar of the exercise machine he was using and reached for his water bottle. He glanced at his watch as he took a swig of water – workout time was over. He flexed his arms, lightly stretched his neck in each direction, then picked up his iPod and towel from the bench and headed towards the locker rooms.

He was halfway there when a door to the right swung open and a cluster of officers from Team Four walked in wearing workout gear. He stopped and searched their faces for a moment before his gaze fell on one that was particularly beloved to him.

"Hey, Jules," he said, breaking into a smile.

She looked up, her face brightening immediately. "Sam," she said warmly, hurrying over and rising to her toes to give him a quick kiss. "I was looking for you at the Rinner case this morning, but we got partnered with Team Two instead of you guys. Remind me to fill you in with the details later, it was quite the story!" She took a step back and giggled. "You know, you really reek right now."

Sam adopted an outraged expression and swatted her lightly with his towel. "We'll see what your aroma is like in an hour, princess. That's hard-earned sweat you smell!"

"I think 'Eau de Jules' smells just fine," Jules retorted, an impish grin on her face.

"Well, it's my opinion that we'll count on that," Sam said.

"Oh really? Why's that?"

Sam smiled and stepped closer to her. "Cuz I'm the one that's kissing you," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands.

"I'll give you that one," Jules sighed, closing her eyes as Sam's lips gently met hers. Her heart thumped louder in her ears, and she reached her arms around Sam's neck and –

"Ew! You're all sweaty," Jules exclaimed, pulling away.

She wiped her hands on her shorts. Then, taking in Sam's disappointed look, she said, "Hey, I'm off in two hours, by which time 'Eau de Sam' and 'Eau de Jules' will be just fine, and we'll continue where we left off…" She cocked her head to the side and smiled beatifically at her beau.

"I'll hold you to that promise," Sam said, reluctantly turning towards the locker rooms.

"Oh I _know_ you will," Jules shot back, grinning.

"I'll see you later."

"See ya, Sam." She gave a half-wave and left to join her team mates on the workout floor.

"Hey – Jules!"

"Yeah?" She turned around, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"I'm going to be a bit late today – not much, like – maybe a half hour or so, I just need to – there's something I need to take care of after work. Nothing big, just - yeah."

Jules's forehead creased in puzzlement at Sam's halting sentence, but she nodded in acquiescence and left to her workout. Sam remained standing in place for a moment, then shook his head slightly and headed to the showers.

_Good grief, I almost forgot that I need to meet Dr. Ruth today._

He paused his undressing for a moment, his shirt still bunched around his neck.

_Do I really need to talk to her? I mean – Jules seems fine…_

The shirt slowly came off over his head, and he sat down to unlace his sneakers.

_She always seems fine during the day. I mean, she's fine in the evenings too – it's just at night…_

A pair of pants, two socks, and boxers joined the shirt in its heap.

_She acts completely normal . We all do these days. It's been a month already since – since it happened. Since Lewis died. Since he was blown up in front of our eyes._

Sam's eyes darkened and his mouth set. He twisted the shower knob a bit more viciously than necessary, and was rewarded with an unwelcome staccato of burning hot water on his back. He yelped in pain and hurriedly adjusted the water temperature.

_We were all there. We all saw it happen. We all make it through the day. It's only the nights where it all goes wrong. _

_For Jules, at least…_

The steam hovered in a thick cloud around Sam as the water steadily rained down from the showerhead.

_I just don't get it,_ he admitted to himself in frustration. _Is it a girl thing? Is it just a Jules thing? I mean, I've lost a lot more friends than she has – look how I lost Matt – and I don't cry every night over it._

He stared down at the bar of soap in his hands, trying to force down the feeling of helplessness that rose in his chest.

_I just don't get this whole thing with Jules. I don't understand it._

He ran his fingers through his hair, ensuring that the last vestiges of shampoo had been rinsed out, then shut off the shower and reached for his towel.

_That's why you're going to speak to a professional, Sam. Someone who will understand the things that you don't. Someone who can fix this. _

A comb through his hair, a quick glance in the mirror, and Sam was ready to rejoin his team – but his reflection kept him company for a few extra moments today, staring back at him with a combination of consternation and restlessness.

_**I**__ fix things. Why can't I fix this?_


	3. Second Thoughts

**Author's Note: Why does everyone seem to assume that Sam's 'bike' is a motorcycle? Go back and listen to the original conversation where he tells Jules that he bought a bike. It's totally a bicycle.**

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"Can I help you?"

Sam started slightly – he hadn't noticed the woman speaking until she was standing right in front of him.

"Oh – uh, yeah, I left a message on your voice mail, I'm not sure if you got it…" Sam trailed off uncertainly.

Dr. Ruth nodded encouragingly. "Yes, I received your message asking to see me. I was a bit surprised…" Sam flushed. "…but yes, you're always welcome. Come in," she said, stepping back from the doorway and gesturing in to her office.

Sam hesitated a moment, then stepped through the door. Unbidden, memories of his last visit rose before his eyes.

"_How long does it take you to fall asleep at night?"_

"_I don't know, maybe fifteen minutes?"_

"_Is that how long it actually takes, or how long you'd like it to take?"_

"_That's – I don't know, that's most nights."_

"_Tell me about the other nights."_

"_Forget it, doc. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm completely fine, and I don't need your help being more in tune with my emotions, or whatever it is you'll tell me to do. I don't see any point in continuing this conversation, so can I leave now?"_

Sam shook his head irritably. This was not a psych evaluation. Thank goodness for that. At least, not _his_ psych eval. He sat himself down on the couch, placing his carrier bag next to him – then, thinking again, he put it on his lap and rested his arms on it. Then he put it on the floor by his feet. Actually, the couch was a better spot for it…

"You're not comfortable being here," Dr. Ruth observed.

_Oh, well spotted,_ Sam thought acerbically, dropping the bag to the floor once more and straightening up. _Freakin' psych docs. Why the heck am I here, anyway?_

"There is a question that you might be able to answer for me," Sam said stiffly. The doctor nodded encouragingly and leaned forward attentively.

Sam resisted the immediate childish impulse to scoot away from her. Instead, he focused on the reason he had come.

"Okay, so let's say somebody – somebody gets sad…" Sam trailed off, suddenly confused. What on earth was he supposed to ask, anyway? How to comfort someone? He was perfectly adept at comforting Jules, thank you very much. How to stop her from getting sad? How the heck was _anyone_ supposed to do that? If Jules was normal? She was perfectly normal, there was nothing _wrong_ with her… No way was he going to get her dragged into this office for the psych doc to get all touchy-feely about her emotional status or something like that…

Sam stood up suddenly and lifted his bag.

"Actually, I think I'm fine," he said quickly. "Yeah, there's – there's nothing going on."

Dr. Ruth leaned back in her chair but didn't rise. "Sit down, Sam. There's obviously something you want to say to me, and I'd like to hear it."

_Oh, I bet you would. Do you want me to tell you that I cry into my pillow every night? No, actually, my teddy bear. Yeah, little Stuffy – or whatever you call a bear – he's my only confidante that I can cry to… _

"There's nothing that I need to say," Sam repeated. "I just – made a mistake."

"You made a mistake. Are you trying to decide how to rectify it?"

"No!" Sam said sharply. "I didn't make – I meant that I made a mistake by coming here. I thought that I had something to ask you, but I don't." He turned to leave.

"Someone is sad," Dr. Ruth said contemplatively, repeating his earlier words.

Sam stopped at the threshold of the office door, his shirt suddenly damp with the sensation of Jules's tears. He hesitated for a moment and then did an abrupt about-face.

"Let's say someone is sad," he shot at the doctor. "How do you make them stop getting sad?"

He lifted his chin slightly in defiance, as if daring the doctor to adequately respond to his question. Maddeningly, Dr. Ruth seemed to be in no rush to do so. She picked up a pencil from her desk and slowly rolled it between her fingers, returning Sam's glare with a soft expression that she obviously deemed to be one of suitable empathy.

"If someone is sad," she said carefully, "we can try to take away the reason that they become sad." She paused for a moment.

"Take away the reason. Thanks, doc," Sam said heartily. He was out of the office and marching down the hall before she had the chance to say another word.

_Take away the reason they become sad. Oh, sure, let's just rewind a couple weeks, tell Lewis not to step on the freakin' land mine, and then we'll all just be la-dee-da. _

_Thanks for the advice, doc. Take away the reason they become sad. That's probably the stupidest and most useless piece of advice that I've ever gotten. Geez, I could sit in an office and give people advice like that and get paid however many bucks an hour that those people charge._

He was only gathering steam as he pounded down the stairs and headed towards the parking lot.

_I'd like to see that woman in combat gear! I'd like to see how she would get out of an enemy ambush. Tell the terrorists to get in touch with their inner child? They'd blow her up before she could finish her sentence. Blow her up like Lew._

Sam's step slowed imperceptibly as his friend's face flashed in front of him.

_Nobody's saying that Lew's death wasn't tragic, and a big shock – but I can deal with Lew's death, and so can Jules. And if she needs help, then I can help her. It took so long for her to let me in, and now that she actually needs me I'm not going to go and dump her on a shrink. If there's one person in the world that I can protect, it's –_

"Jules!"

"Oh – hey, Sam…" She was leaning against her car, ever so casually.

"What – what are you doing here?" Sam asked uncertainly, walking towards her. Her shift had ended forty-five minutes ago, hadn't it?

Jules shrugged. "I just thought I'd wait for you," she said simply, reaching out and wrapping her arms around Sam. "I thought maybe you'd want a ride home?"

Sam blinked down at her, but she was smiling, and he suddenly remembered the first time he'd found Jules waiting for him after work. After that drug bust standoff, when things had gone way south, and she'd been waiting for him in the hall, wearing a red tank top…

Sam smiled back at Jules and returned her hug before opening the trunk of her car to stow his bike.

_Come to think of it, she's a lot more affectionate these days,_ he thought as he lifted the bike and carefully leaned it against the back seat. _See – perfectly fine… _He slammed the trunk shut, opened the passenger-side door, and swung himself inside. Jules sat herself down in the driver's seat and smiled at him as he clicked in his seatbelt. If there were lines of anxiety behind her smile, Sam pretended not to notice.

_There's nothing wrong with Jules. She's perfectly fine._

The familiar hum of the engine filled the air with a calm resonance.

_I'll protect her._


	4. Dr Jekyll

**Author's Note: What the heck is up with the Flashpoint writers not putting any Sam/Jules into the Season 3 episodes? I'm getting really mad =(**

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"_I dreamed I was missing  
you were so scared  
But no one else listened  
cuz no one else cared_

_After my dreaming  
I woke with this fear  
What am I leaving  
when I am done here_

_So if you're asking me, I want you to know…"_

The car was quiet aside from the music pouring forth from the stereo. Jules seemed absorbed in the music, so Sam let her be and remained silent. He leaned his head back on the headrest, watching the weaving movements of the traffic. The cloudy grey sky seemed to cushion the world in a cool blanket, granting the scene in front of him a poetic feel. Almost romantic. Sam smiled to himself.

"_When my time comes  
forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some  
reason to be missed…"_

"Why are we listening to depressing music?" Sam asked laconically, reaching out to change the station. He was startled by a quick slap to his wrist – Jules's eyes were back on the road by the time he looked up in surprise.

"I'm listening to it," she said shortly. Sam shrugged and desisted.

"_Please don't resent me  
and when you're feeling empty  
Keep me in your memories  
Leave out all the rest  
Leave out all the rest…"_

Jules pulled up to the curb in front of her house and shifted into park. She remained sitting in place, one hand on her engine key, until the last note of the song faded away. Then she stilled the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. Sam did the same.

"Hey – Jules – do you mind if I take the car for some errands? Shouldn't take too long," he said, opening his door and sliding out. Jules, already halfway up the walk to her front steps, stopped and turned around.

"Not a problem," she said, tossing her keys to Sam, who caught them. Then she hesitated and added in a too-casual voice, "Mind if I come along?"

"Sure… yeah, of course you can come," Sam said uncertainly. "It's just errands, nothing interesting."

"I don't mind," Jules said lightly, returning to the car and seating herself in the passenger seat.

Sam remained standing where he was for a moment, eyebrows creased, until Jules leaned over and lightly tapped the horn to rouse him. He climbed into the driver's seat and looked over at Jules, trying to read the reason behind her unusual request. She looked perfectly fine, though – and if there were lines of anxiety behind her calm, he wouldn't admit it to himself.

_So she wants to come to the post office. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe she just wants to spend time with me._

"Everything okay?" he asked her, despite himself.

"Yeah, of course, everything's fine – why?" Her eyes were wide in innocent surprise.

"No reason."

_Everything's fine._

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

It was fun having Jules along, actually. As the two of them perused the aisle of "For Her" birthday cards in the Hallmark store, Sam would inevitably gravitate towards the flowery and formal "Happy Birthday, Mom" cards, while Jules tended to favor the "You're a Hot Mama!" cards. Sam didn't exactly appreciate the idea of sending one of those to his mother, but they made him laugh nonetheless, and the card that he finally settled on was less demure than his usual choice.

Their next stop, the post office, was decidedly less interesting and more crowded than the Hallmark store had been, but Sam and Jules enjoyed themselves nonetheless. Jules found a clear spot on the counter for Sam to fill out the birthday card, and encouraged him to be a bit more prolific than his annual "Love, Sam" addition to the pre-printed birthday message. She even added two lines of her own – one wishing her future mother-in-law many more years of happiness, and one expressing the hope that she would be able to meet her soon. The two months since her engagement to Mrs. Braddock's son had not contained the time off necessary for the lengthy trip to visit Sam's parents, although the couple had driven up to Jules's family for a weekend to "meet the folks" and celebrate their engagement.

Their last stop was a convenience store for a box of blister Band-Aids – Sam had developed a large blister on his left hand which was painfully aggravated by the weapons he constantly handled. He located his quarry quickly enough, then turned to Jules – "Do you want anything?" She glanced around the shelf for a moment before picking out a box of neon-colored band-aids.

"Cuts and scrapes are such a part of this job," she said with a smile, "Might as well keep it interesting."

"What, no Barbie Band-Aids?" Sam joked as he paid for their selections.

"Well, I was going to get those, but you know…" Jules glanced around the store and lowered her voice , "I didn't think you'd want the rest of the guys to see you wearing them."

Sam laughed aloud as he took the proffered bag from the cashier and left the store, his arm around Jules.

He was still chuckling to himself when he got into the car, checked that Jules's seatbelt was fastened, and pulled out into the heavy traffic that filled the streets.

"Get a load of all these cars," Sam remarked. "Do you ever wonder where they're all going?"

"Probably the same place that we are," Jules replied comfortably.

"I sure hope not," Sam quipped. "Your house would be in shambles, and we'd run out of toilet paper way too quickly."

It was Jules's turn to laugh, and Sam, listening to her laughter, found himself grinning as well. He reached out and clasped one of Jules's hands in his, giving it a tender squeeze.

_I'm so freakin' lucky to have her_, he thought for the thousand-and-first time. _So lucky._

"Don't ever leave me, Jules," he murmured, barely realizing that he was enunciating his thoughts.

She removed her hand from within his, which was a strange response. He glanced over at her. She looked strained.

"Hey," Sam said reassuringly, searching her face in between glances at the road. "I'm just sayin'."

She gave a brief smile, but the lines of anxiety were more visible now. Sam worried.

_Is there something going on here that I don't know about? _He thought uneasily. _This whole stress thing _is_ about Lew, isn't it? There's not – it's not like – Oh, stop being an idiot! You're acting like a –_

"Jerk!" Sam yelled as he slammed on his brakes. His only response from the car that had suddenly cut in front of him was the display of a certain finger.

"Damn it, what an idiot," Sam fumed, braking further to distance himself from the offending driver. "What the hell is his problem? I could've hit him – I _should've_ hit him. Serve him right… what a jerk!" He glanced over at Jules, then did a double-take and stopped the car completely, mindless of their position in the middle of the road.

"Jules, are you all right?!" he exclaimed in concern. Her face was white. So were her knuckles where her hands gripped the dashboard in front of her.

Jules gave a tiny affirmative nod, but Sam wasn't appeased. Shifting into park, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned towards Jules, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes.

"Jules – sweetheart – are you all right?"

She nodded more vigorously this time, relaxing her grip on the dashboard and knotting her fingers together instead.

"What happened?" Sam asked anxiously. He had no idea what to make of the paralyzing terror that seemed to have gripped Jules.

"Nothing," she whispered. "No, I was just – I just got – scared. When the car braked like that."

Sam was at a complete loss. "That guy who cut in front of us was a complete jerk," he said. "He just appeared out of nowhere, I didn't really have a choice, I would've hit him… but Jules," he said, suddenly figuring out the apparent cause of her fear, "Even if we hit him, we would've been fine. We weren't going very fast, and your car is much sturdier than that idiot's."

Jules nodded in agreement. She looked almost back to normal now, and Sam was starting to think that his impression of her reaction had been exaggerated. Maybe he was the one who had over-reacted here. He turned back into his seat and shifted back into drive, looking ruefully at the streams of honking cars that were now passing him.

"I'm doing laundry when we get home," Jules announced.

Sam looked up at her. She was leaning back in her seat, looking completely at ease.

"I'll wash the stuff in the bathroom hamper first, then I'll do a load of linens… is there anything you want me to wash?"

Sam struggled to formulate a response as he turned on to Jules's street. Had he only imagined that Jules had been frozen in shock a moment ago?

"Well? Anything you need washed?"

"I'll see when we go inside," Sam responded, pulling up to Jules's curb.

"Need me to wash your skivvies?" Jules asked teasingly, glancing at Sam's nether-regions.

The corners of his mouth twitched in response, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. What was this, a Jekyll-Hyde situation here? Just a – a sad-happy thing? A scared-happy thing? An extra scared, extra sad/super cheerful, super affectionate thing?

Jules had disappeared into the bedroom by the time Sam came inside. She emerged a minute later holding a heaping laundry basket against her hip.

"Sure about that underwear?" she murmured suggestively as she passed him. A flowery wisp remained in the air after she had passed – _'Eau de Jules'_, Sam suddenly remembered. The rest of that afternoon's conversation floated back into his mind, and he felt himself relaxing as he quietly walked into the laundry room behind the kitchen.

"I've changed my mind," he murmured into Jules's ear as his arms snaked around her waist.

"I'm pretty sure that everything I'm wearing is dirty."

Jules's expression lifted into a flirtatious smile. "I think I can help you there," she said with mock seriousness, turning around in his grasp and reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Oh dear, this does need to be washed…"

Sam bent his head down and kissed her softly beneath her ear. She pulled open his shirt and laid her head against Sam's chest, relaxing against him and inhaling deeply.

"Eau de Sam," she whispered, gazing up at him.

In the back of Sam's mind, a reel was playing – a reel of Jules waiting in the parking lot, of those anxious lines that never seemed to leave her face, of Jules's terrified reaction in the car – but the film was playing way, way in the back of his mind, and as he held Jules in his arms, he discovered that if he really tried, he could pretend that it wasn't there at all.

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

**AN: Just a word of caution - if you look at the title of this chapter, you'll know what's coming in the next one...**


	5. Warning Signs

"All right teams, secure your firearms," Sergeant Foster called.

Thirty uniformed men and women obeyed, unloading ammunition from the weapons they held and placing the guns back on their storage shelves. Sergeant Foster glanced down at a list in his hand and issued his next instruction.

"Live disarming exercises will be held outside. All teams, proceed to Yard #3 for buried explosives training."

The men and women of the SRU filed dutifully through the door, accompanied by their respective sergeants. Sergeant Parker, however, held his team back until they were alone.

The members of Team One stood around him - silent, stoic, and resigned.

"Look, this is going to be difficult, I'm not going to lie to you," Greg said bluntly, shaking his head. "We're going to go outside in a minute and join the other teams in an exercise where we practice doing what you'll think might have saved Lewis's life." He looked around at the somber faces of his team. "We did everything we could for Lew," he said emphatically. "That's not what this is about right now. This is about being able to go out there and handle any situation that comes up, and not let emotions get in the way of saving lives." He waved his hand towards the door. "Let's get out there and do this."

Perhaps it was out of respect for the members of Team One that the SRU officers were a bit more sedate than usual during this exercise. The demonstrations and practical exercises were completed quickly, carefully, and for the most part, correctly.

Sam found himself searching out Jules from amongst the knot of officers that was Team Four. As the only one from her team who had been witness to Lewis's death, he was pretty sure that she had not been granted the courtesy of a speech preparing her for this exercise.

Her appearance, when he spotted her, did nothing to ease Sam's concern for her welfare – her skin looked strangely patchy as she watched the proceedings with an odd expression on her face. A team mate was systematically clearing sand from around a demo mine, but she wasn't watching his progress. Instead, she closed her eyes and appeared to be breathing deeply.

As Sam's head lifted in concern, one of her teammates – Johnson, a good cop, that one – bent over Jules solicitously, obviously inquiring after her welfare. He was dismissed with a hand wave that clearly signaled "I'm fine."

By now craning his neck to watch Jules and completely ignoring his own team's actions, Sam watched Jules lean against the wall behind her, looking ashen, even as the wind carried her words to him – "No, no, keep going, I'm fine. Everything's okay."

_Everything's okay_, he struggled to convince himself. _She's fine._

He couldn't concentrate – how could he? – Jules looked sick, she shouldn't be here. And now it was his turn to step into the sand box, _but how is Jules, is she still okay?_

The metal clicked loudly under his heel, and he bent down to follow the protocol, the steps he knew by heart and could complete even while blindfolded and wearing mittens –_ but is Jules okay, is she all right?_ He looked over at her through the crowd, and she was watching him, ashen-faced. His fingers fumbled where they should have been precise, and the next moment he gasped in pain as the demo mine "exploded" beneath him, sending a small electric shock through his hand and emitting a puff of smoke.

Sam straightened in chagrin to chorus of disappointed sounds. Someone slapped him on the back as he raised his hands in defeat – but there was a commotion of a different sort over by Team Four. Sam looked over curiously, and in the center of a cluster of concerned officers, Jules was lying on the ground.

.

.

.

.

.

Time stopped.

.

.

.

.

.

_No, no, Jules _– he was fighting, he was pushing his way through the knot of officers _– Jules! Jules! Wake up!_ his brain screamed, and why were they all looking at him now, they should be looking at Jules – _Jules, sweetheart, wake up_ – she was lying so still, but she was breathing, and Sam began to breathe too – for he couldn't have breathed if she did not, from where would he draw air? And people must have been talking – mouths moved, hands gestured – but only deafening silence pressed against Sam's temples from every direction. And then Jules was in his arms, and then she wasn't anymore, she was lying on the bed in the medical office, and how they had gotten there Sam did not know.

"Are you okay? You look terrible."

Was_ she_ asking _him _that?

He supposed, on second thought, that he must look nearly as bad as she did.

"You scared me half to death," he said, and his voice was hoarse from disuse, for hadn't it been a thousand years since he had seen Jules on the floor?

"What happened?" he asked finally. Jules shook her head.

"I just got a bit scared," she said dismissively. "You know, when that demo mine popped – it startled me."

_People don't faint when they're startled. Jules doesn't faint._

"I'm fine," she insisted, seeing the doubt on his face. "I was just a bit dizzy."

"You were dizzy," Sam repeated. There was some emotion pooling within him, rising rapidly, threatening to flood his organs – and he knew what it was, and wasn't prepared for it, and couldn't deal with it, and the effort to keep it at bay was just too much.

"Jules, I saw what you looked like," he said sharply. "A geisha would've looked sunburnt next to you. Something is _not_ fine, Jules."

He was getting more and more upset. The flood waters were beginning to churn. Jules closed her eyes.

"Sam, I'm really tired, and I don't want to talk about this."

"What _is_ this?" Sam asked angrily. "You're a sniper, Jules, you've been through all kinds of hell more than once, and –"

"Leave it, Sam!" Red splotches had had appeared on her cheeks, a sharp contrast against the pallor of her skin.

Sam stood up from his seat and began pacing furiously.

_No, I will not leave it. Something Is wrong with Jules, and I'm scared._

He stopped short, and the flood within threatened to burst out from his every pore.

_I'm so scared._

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

**Author's Note: I had some serious doubts about posting this chapter. My original idea for the story went straight from chapter "Dr. Jekyll" to chapter "Mr. Hyde", but then I reconsidered and wrote this chapter as a buffer between the two. Then I thought that it might be too much... maybe skipping it, maybe posting it at the end of the story as a deleted chapter... anyway, that's why I haven't updated this story in a while. Sorry about that. So yeah, please let me know what you think about this chapter!**


	6. Mr Hyde

**Author's Note: I'm going to start yelling and throwing things if they don't start giving me some serious Sam and Jules scenes… or **closure, at the very least. **

****Insert inappropriate cuss word of your choice here**

**Anyway, here's my long-delayed Chapter 6. Enjoy =)**

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

The yawn with which Sam awoke was of such vast proportions as to make his cheeks hurt. He groaned, rolled over – and fell right off of the couch and on to the floor.

_Ow._

Too tired to care about his uncomfortable position, Sam remained lying on the floor for a few minutes while the thick cotton balls that seemed to fill his head slowly cleared out.

_Morning? Night?_

Sam lifted himself onto his elbows and looked around the dark room for clues as to the time of day and location that he was situated in. His bare chest was resting on top of a red iPod nano, and his legs were half tangled in a grey blanket that had taken the fall with him. Jules's things. He was at Jules's house, then. The luminous numbers on his watch informed him that it was currently five fifteen in the morning.

_Right, right, we came here after work… Jules made that new Thai chicken recipe for dinner… we played backgammon… she hasn't slowed down at all since that fainting spell yesterday… _

He shook his head slightly in consternation, then stopped immediately when the slight motion seemed to painfully slosh the contents of his head.

_Have I been drinking?_

Sam glanced around the room from his vantage point on the floor for evidence of extensive alcoholic consumption, but found none. He did find Jules, though – she was asleep on the loveseat, curled into a pitifully fetal position.

Her diamond ring glittered brightly in the darkness, and Sam suddenly remembered.

He wished that he didn't.

_**Six Hours Earlier**_

_**Jules's Living Room**_

"Man, you stink at backgammon. You know that, don't you?"

"Which is why I only play it when you whine…"

"Well, you haven't got any other good games around here!"

"Yeah, I do! I have… I have UNO. And I have Malarky."

"You can't play Malarky with only two people."

"I know. It's for parties."

"Which you throw so very often." Sam pushed the board away and leaned back on the carpet, his hands under his head. Jules tried to scowl at him, but laughed instead.

"You're right," she said, shifting herself over to his spot and stretching out on the floor next to him. "I guess you're good enough company for me."

"Damn right I am," Sam grinned, turning onto his side to face her.

"…when you're not whining."

"Hey! I don't _whine_. I just…" he paused for a moment, searching for a suitably euphemistic verb. "I vocalize," he said confidently. "In a polite and mature fashion."

"'Polite and mature', my derriere," Jules murmured, rolling onto her stomach and stretching an arm across Sam's chest. "You whine."

"You love me anyway," Sam said, lightly tracing patterns across Jules's arm.

"Mm hm."

Sam reached over and tousled Jules's hair affectionately.

"We should get a Wii."

"We should get married."

"What?" Sam looked at Jules in confusion. "If you're trying to propose to me, I think I beat you to that by a couple of months."

"I meant sooner. Why can't we get married in November?"

"Because it's already October," Sam said, puzzled. "What's wrong with next June?"

"It's a long time away," Jules said, shrugging.

"But my parents… and your brothers… and all the stuff we'd need to do… we agreed on this, Jules."

"I know. Forget it."

"We can – I mean, we can discuss this if you want, maybe we can do March –"

"Forget it. It's fine." She was on her feet now, returning the backgammon pieces to their box. Sam watched her for a moment, then stood up as well, glancing at his watch.

"I think I'm going to get ready for bed," he said. "That run today wiped me out."

"How fast were you going?" Jules asked curiously, reaching for her iPod and heading towards the kitchen.

"Five minute miles."

"Impressive."

"Thanks." The kitchen sink turned on, and the sound of gently clanking of dishes filled the air.

Sam walked into Jules's bedroom, pulled off his shirt, and removed a pair of his pajama pants from Jules's drawer. He stepped into the bathroom and rummaged through the linen shelves for a clean towel, but only came up with washcloths. Glancing around fruitlessly, he shrugged and headed back to the kitchen.

"Hey Jules, did you do… laundry…"

Sam's voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen. The night's dishes were still stacked in the sink, and the faucet was silent. Jules was sitting at the small kitchen table, her iPod plugged into her ears, staring unseeingly at the wall.

_Damn it, _Sam thought in frustration. _Why again? Why every night? _

"Jules," he said gently. There was no response. He tried again, a little louder.

"Jules!"

She jumped.

"Oh – hey, what's – what's going on…" she asked jerkily, pulling the headphones out of her ears.

"You okay?" Sam asked, pulling out the seat across from her. He knew what the answer would be, but he felt the need to ask anyway.

"Yeah, I'm – yeah…" Jules trailed off. Her eyes were dark and troubled again. Sam sighed and drummed his fingers on the table in front of him, unsure of what to say.

"Do you remember that time that I came over and you had a girl sleeping here? When we were broken up?" Jules asked suddenly.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "Um, yes… why?"

"Do you remember that I got really angry and started yelling at you, even though you hadn't done anything wrong?"

"Yes…"

"Oh." She was silent for a moment. "I wish you didn't remember."

Sam blinked uncertainly. He didn't have a clue as to what was going on here.

"Do you remember that time that we were late to my sister-in-law's birthday dinner because you got lost, and I was mad at you the whole night?"

"Yeah, I remember!" Sam said. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

Jules's eyes dimmed.

"Is this the stuff you'll remember about me when I'm dead?"

"_What?_" Sam's jaw dropped as Jules's jaw set. "What on earth – Jules, stop this!"

"I mean it, Sam!" She stood up from her seat, twisting and knotting her fingers together fretfully. "What's going to happen when I'm gone, and you'll just be thinking about the times we've had together, and that's – that's what you're going to think about! All the awful things that I did!"

"No, I won't!" He was standing too, his arms gesturing emphatically. "That's not what I'll think – what the hell, Jules, you're not dying any time soon, and there'll be a lot more things to remember by then, and anyway there's good stuff, there's lots of good stuff, and – why the hell are we talking about this?!"

"I want you to remember the good stuff when I die," Jules said. "We did have good times."

"What are you talking about?! You're not going to –" Sam stopped suddenly, his heart ice cold in his chest. "Jules," he said slowly. "You're not about to do anything stupid, are you?"

"No!" she immediately exclaimed in revulsion. "No way, I'd never – I'd never do anything like that. But look at our _job_, Sam, we both could've died hundreds of times, we've both been shot, and who knows, maybe tomorrow some perp is going to pull the trigger before we get him, and they'll be zipping me up in a body bag –"

"Stop it!" Sam shouted. "Stop talking like that! You're not going anywhere, Jules! You're not – you're not leaving me –" his throat constricted painfully.

"What happens when I do?" Jules asked obstinately. "It happens to everyone at some point, and how do you know that I won't kick it tomorrow? Or – or you? What if you're the one who's not here when I come home tomorrow?" She was pacing frenetically now, wringing her white-knuckled hands together.

Sam stared at her helplessly. She took his inability to refute her questions as a sign of concurrence.

"Well, then, I'll make it a bit easier," she announced, marching into the living room. "If you don't have reminders of – of the bad things – it won't be so hard to forget –" As if possessed, she rushed around the room, snatching seemingly random objects from their various places – a mug on the shelf, a postcard on the mantle, a fuzzy pen from a drawer – and throwing them into the garbage can in the corner. Sam remained frozen in place, at a complete loss.

When Jules snatched a framed photo from the mantelpiece, though, Sam's limbs began to function again.

"No!" he cried, sprinting forward and seizing Jules's arm. Her smiling face shimmered up at him mockingly from beneath the glass frame in her hand. "No, don't!"

"I have to," Jules said desperately, trying to free her arm from his grasp. "Do you remember what else happened on the day you took this picture? I don't want you to! I don't want you to remember!"

"No, Jules! You don't have to do this! This is crazy!" Sam shouted.

"So maybe I'm going crazy!" Jules cried, her voice rising hysterically. "But you won't have this picture to remind you of me when I'm dead! You won't! You _won't_!"

Jules wrenched her arm free of his grip and threw the picture frame as far as she could. It hit the wall over the fireplace and crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

"No –" Sam's brain wasn't functioning, this couldn't be happening –

Jules collapsed to her knees, and she was crying now. She crawled over to the broken photo frame, reached through the glass for the picture, and began tearing it into tiny pieces, heaving with sobs.

Sam found himself at her side in an instant. "Glass," he said numbly, lifting her from the floor. She was so light in his arms -

"Sam," she wept, clinging to his shirt. "Sam…"

"You're – you're gonna be okay," Sam said, but his voice wavered.

"No, I'm not going to be okay," Jules sobbed. "I'm not okay…"

"You just – you just – you need help," Sam whispered. "We're gonna – we're gonna get help."

"No," Jules said, suddenly wide-eyed, "No, I don't want – they're going to take me away, Sam –"

"Don't say that!" Sam said sharply. "I'll find someone who can help you, Jules – I would - I would never let that happen to you."

He set her down on the loveseat, seating himself next to her and smoothing the hair away from her puffy eyes.

"Sam," she said softly.

"Yeah."

"I think I have to give this back to you."

She opened her palm, and a thousand sparkling suns danced from the diamond within it.

Sam had thought that the worst of the night was over. Apparently, he was wrong.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in shock, looking from the ring to her face. Her eyes were shining with fresh tears, but her expression was resolute.

"I'm a wreck," she said wretchedly. "You don't – you shouldn't have to deal with this. This isn't what you asked for, you – you deserve someone better than me…" she wiped her eyes with her free hand. "…someone stronger."

Sam struggled for breath.

"You – Jules, I – don't –" Panic was rendering him incoherent. "Jules, I don't – no –" He pushed her open hand back towards her. "Jules, I don't care – if – whatever happens – Jules, I just –" He placed a shaking hand over hers. "I only want you," he whispered. "I don't care what – what happens, cuz we're gonna – we're gonna get through this, we're gonna make it, Jules. We're going to be okay." His eyes burned with tears. "I'm going to – we're going to talk to a doctor, we'll get help, Jules, we're going to make it. Jules, put – put your ring back on…"

He watched her fingers fumble with the silver band until it rested on her finger once again.

"I was scared that you would want it back," Jules said quietly. "But I had to let you choose."

Sam shook his head wordlessly. He left into Jules's bedroom, reappearing after a moment with a small bottle of sleeping pills in his hand. He shook two pills out into his palm and gave them to Jules along with a paper cup of water. She took them without even asking what they were, then curled up on her side and closed her eyes.

Sam sat and watched her until her ragged breathing became steady, then stood up and began sweeping up the broken glass by the fireplace. He carried the dustbin into the kitchen to empty it out, and spotted Jules's iPod lying on the kitchen table where she had discarded it.

Sam picked up the iPod and scrolled down to the "recently played" list. There was only one song there, one song that seemed all too familiar. He stuck the earbuds into his ears and clicked "play".

_I'm strong on the surface  
not all the way through  
I've never been perfect  
but neither have you_

_So if you're asking me, I want you to know…_

Sam made his way back into the living room, flicking off the light as he did so. He wrapped his shoulders in Jules's grey throw and lay down on the couch.

For the first time since he was six years old, Sam Braddock cried himself to sleep.

_When my time comes  
Forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some  
reason to be missed_

_Please don't resent me  
and when you're feeling empty  
Keep me in your memories  
Leave out all the rest_

_Leave out all the rest_


	7. Dawn

**A/N: Ohmigosh! A Sam/Jules scene! Please tell me that the world is not ending and I've just been granted a final wish… Well, folks, the future's not looking good for our favorite pairing. And how acerbic was that comment of Jules? Waaaay below the belt…**

**On an unrelated note, I apologize for neglecting this story for so long. I've been dealing with some very difficult and emotionally draining things this week, and if you check out my story "Teresa Contemplates" and substitute the name "Craig" for "Jane", you'll see what they were. **

**Oh, the freedom of anonymity…**

**Anyway, enough self-indulgence – let's join Jules in her first therapy session.**

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

"How old are you, Jules?"

The questions were innocuous enough, but she was nervous, Sam could tell. Her hand gripped his very tightly.

"And how long have you been working at the SRU?"

The shrink hadn't wanted Sam to be here, but she'd been overruled when Jules flatly refused to cooperate without him present. Just for the first session, at least. She was feeling much too vulnerable to be alone with the psychologist.

"And the death of Lewis Young was the first time that you've lost a team member."

_Straight into it, then. No reason for beating around the bush, anyway. There's a problem, the doctor is here to fix it. Hopefully this will be quick and painless. Shame there isn't such a thing as emotional painkillers available over the counter. You would think, what with all the advances that science has made…_ Sam's trail of thoughts broke off when he realized that Jules was looking up at him inquiringly.

"Um, about a year?"

_The length of our relationship? Yes, that's right._

"Yes, that's right." He cleared his throat after he said it. He hadn't been expecting to talk.

The doctor nodded. She had a pad of paper open on her lap, and Sam was immensely grateful that she was not jotting down every word that was said into it.

"Tell me about your problem, Jules."

She swallowed before answering in her best attempt at an offhand voice."Okay, this is going to sound really stupid, but I've been – having a really hard time dealing with Lew's death. It's – it's kind of ridiculous, I've been – really scared –" her voice wavered for a moment, but she caught it and continued, "-about a lot of different things, that maybe what happened to Lew is going to happen to me, or to – to Sam… I know it doesn't make sense, but I'm kind of – waiting – for it to happen… and it just scares me, and life is so unpredictable anyway, and… I know this is so unprofessional, but I haven't been dealing with this well, or at all, really, I've been… weak about it."

Dr. Ruth _had _been taking notes during this soliloquy, and she leaned forward now as she read them aloud to Jules.

"This is going to sound really stupid," she quoted, "It's kind of ridiculous. It doesn't make sense. This is so unprofessional. I've been weak."

She looked up at Jules, who looked back uncertainly.

"Do you hear all the self-judgment in your words?" Dr. Ruth asked. "You're vilifying yourself for experiencing a natural response to an extreme trauma."

Jules looked taken aback. Sam looked between the two women interestedly. Maybe the shrink _did_ know a thing or two after all.

"It _is _stupid," Jules said defensively. The psychiatrist winced dramatically.

"As long as you're judging yourself for these feelings, Jules, you're going to be making life twice as difficult for you. You're trying to cope with the emotional reaction you're going through while feeling guilty and wrong for having these feelings at all."

Jules's shoulders hunched slightly. Sam slid a reassuring arm around her waist.

"So, the first thing we're going to deal with here is this self-judgment. We've got to move that out of the way in order to deal with the real problem. Do you understand why, Jules?"

"Yes."

"All right, we're going to start with a little exercise. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes."

Jules looked at Sam uncertainly. His arm tightened securely around her, and she reluctantly closed her eyes, settling against him.

"What is it that you think you shouldn't be feeling, Jules?"

The answer was immediate.

"I shouldn't be so scared of dying all the time."

"Is that true?"

"Yes." Firm.

"Is that absolutely, one hundred percent true?"

Silence.

"No?" Uncertain.

"That's right. Nothing is ever one hundred percent, Jules… now I want you to tell me, when you believe what you just told me – that you shouldn't be scared of dying – how does it make you feel?"

"Weak." Whispered. "Angry at myself." Her jaw set, and Sam knew that she was trying not to cry.

Dr. Ruth waited a moment for Jules to compose herself, then continued.

"Let's say you could get rid of that thought, Jules. Let's flush it away. How do you feel without it?"

"Better." Her eyes are still closed.

"Better how?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong."

The psychologist smiled. "That's great, Jules. That is completely true. The extreme to which you're frightened is something that we will deal with, but first and foremost you need to understand that you're not doing anything wrong."

Jules opened her eyes. She looked immensely more relaxed than she had when they had first closed.

"We're not done, though," the doctor continued. "Here's our last step. I want you to take that original statement you made, and turn it around 180 degrees."

"The opposite?" Jules sounded surprised.

"Yes."

"Okay, I… I _should _be afraid of dying, because – because I'm looking out for myself and for the people I love, and I'm – appreciating that life is short." She seemed slightly startled by her own words.

"Is that true?"

"Yeah... yeah, I suppose it is."

"How does _that _make you feel?"

"Relieved." She actually smiled as she said it.

"Good." The psychologist smiled too. "We're going to use that thought to replace the judgement you've been using until now."

Grudgingly acknowledging a growing respect for the woman sitting across from him, Sam watched the two women smile, and began to feel, for the first time in a while, that maybe everything really was going to be okay.

**FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP**

**A/N: Nope, no degree in psychotherapy – all credit goes to Byron Katie and "the work dot org".**


	8. Overcast Skies

Jules started when she felt a hand touch her elbow. She turned around quickly, pulling her earbuds out of her ears, but immediately relaxed when she saw the person standing behind her.

"Oh, hey Sam. I didn't hear you come in. How was your day?"

"Same old, saving the world, blah blah…"

"Yeah, that does get boring, doesn't it?"

"It's a hard life being a hero." Sam grinned as he selected an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and tossed it up into the air before catching it again.

"So what have you been up to all day?" he asked, sending the fruit airborne again.

"Well, I thought I'd try out some new recipes today, what with all this free time I've got…" Jules gave a wry smile. "So I've got sweet and sour chicken marinating in the refrigerator, and I just finished making filling for eggrolls."

"Wow," Sam said, leaning against the counter with an impressed expression on his face. "You know, I kind of like this... I get home from work, my girl is puttering around the kitchen making me dinner… I could get used to this really quickly."

"Don't," Jules advised. "I'm only home for a week, and then you're back on dinner duty just as much as I am."

"A guy can dream."

"Yeah, keep dreaming."

Sam bit into the apple in his hand and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

"You _are _planning on staying home for a while when we have kids, though? For a little while, at least?"

"Not quite there yet, Sam."

"Yeah, but still, I mean – you must've thought about it, right?"

"Sam, I've kind of got other things on my mind right now."

"Right, right," Sam said, instantly contrite. "So - how is it going? With the doc?"

Jules turned around and began removing pans from the kitchen cabinets. "It's all right."

"All right?" Sam echoed.

Jules shrugged and said nothing. Sam watched her back for a moment, then set his apple down and reached out to her, placing his hand on her arm. She sighed and turned around to face him, looking unhappy.

"Hey," he said gently. "What's going on? I thought she's supposed to be helping."

"She is," Jules said.

"So why do you look so miserable?"

Jules looked down at the countertop.

"C'mere," Sam said softly, pulling her into his arms. She complied without protest, and he held her for a few minutes in silence.

"It's like going through emotional surgery," Jules said finally. "It's like – like I know that there's a problem, and that this is necessary to fix it, but meanwhile I'm being cut open and everything's exposed, and I'm just – feeling really vulnerable right now."

Sam rubbed her arm reassuringly. Unsure of what to say, he opted to remain silent.

"And it's also like – like a clogged sink," Jules continued after a moment. "Like it's being plunged up to clear it out, which is good, but meanwhile there's all this sewage that's being pulled up and is lying everywhere, and it's… it's difficult to deal with."

She looked up at Sam. He looked back at her without the faintest idea of how to go about reassuring her.

_I'm pretty sure I understand her metaphors, but plunging emotional sewage… not exactly my forte._

"So… so it _is _helping though, the sessions," he ventured. "I guess you just have to – stick with it."

Jules's face fell slightly as she turned away.

"Look, I'm not – this isn't exactly my thing," Sam said defensively.

"You could try," Jules mumbled, shrugging out of his arms.

"I could – Jules, I _am _trying!" Sam said indignantly. "You think I know the first thing about this whole business? I'm not exactly into the whole 'emotional' thing, it's not my way of doing things."

"It's not the _right_ way of doing things? Not _tough_ enough for you?"

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant, though, isn't it? That the 'emotional thing' is weakness."

"Well – yeah, it _is –"_

"Oh, so I'm _weak_? Are we back to this again?"

"What? I didn't say that, Jules, I said that – that – oh come on, let's not revisit this argument. You're not weak, Jules, I never said you were!"

"No, only that my reactions are weak. Unbefitting for the oh-so-tough Sam Braddock. Unbefitting for his wife, too? Am I going to be an embarrassment to you, your soft spouse?!"

"Cut the crap, Jules! You're blowing this out of proportion –" and before he could stop himself "-as usual."

Jules's eyes blazed as she slammed the cutting board down on the counter. "Wow, Sam, it's nice to know what you think of me," she said scathingly. "So nice to know how much you care." She spun on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Jules, come on!"

Sam swore under his breath and chucked his half-eaten apple into the garbage as hard as he could. It hit the rim, bounced off, and skidded under the stove.

"Great! Just great!" he shouted at the empty kitchen. He marched over to the stove and then dropped to his knees, bending over to scout for the wayward fruit.

_Gross… it's so dusty under here. I should use one of those Swiffer cloths to clean this._

He reached out and nudged the apple with his finger tips. It rolled towards him obligingly.

_Actually, I should just move the stove so I could sweep and mop properly_, he thought as he pulled himself up and dusted off his pants before dropping the fruit directly into the waste basket. _Slam dunk._

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, then turned and headed for the bedroom. Jules was curled up on top of the blankets, her knees drawn up to her chest. Sam walked over and sat down on the bed next to her.

"Hey."

Her eyes flicked over to him and then back to the wall in front of her. Sam leaned back against the headboard and studied the ceiling for a few moments.

"So I once knew this girl," he began conversationally. "This really awesome girl. She was crazy smart, and crazy sexy, and she was the most badass SRU officer I'd ever met…" He studied the curve of Jules's spine beneath her sweater. "…and then she went through a bit of a hard time…" Jules's back stiffened. "…and I wished to God that I knew how to be there for her the way she wanted me to be, but I could only do the best that I knew how to do…" His cheek was twitching now. "…and I hope she knows how much I love her, and that I'd walk through hell and back for her if it would make her happy…"

Jules turned over and looked up at Sam, her face drawn and sad, her eyes filled with tears. He reached for her, and she lay herself down in his lap, tucking her arms tightly beneath her chest. Sam stroked her hair gently.

"We're gonna get through this, Jules," he whispered. "We're going to make it through."

He wasn't quite sure if he was reassuring her or himself.


	9. Scattered Showers

"Hey, Braddock!"

Sam looked up from his locker and nodded in acknowledgement of the officer approaching him.

"Hey Spike. What's up." It wasn't really a question.

"I just wanted to ask you – how's Jules doing? I heard she was put on leave for a bit."

Sam removed his iPod from his locker and began to rewrap the cord of his earbuds. "She's all right. Bit of a hard time right now."

"I heard. It's because of Lew, isn't it." It wasn't a question either. "I heard she took it hard."

"You heard, did you?" Sam retorted, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice.

_Why do people always find it necessary to get involved in our private business?_

"Yeah, I did." Spike's voice sounded off, and Sam glanced up to see that his eyes were glittering slightly.

_Nice, Sam. You're so self-involved that you forgot that Lew was Spike's best friend. Real smooth, Braddock._

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized, closing his locker and turning to face his teammate. "That was really insensitive of me." He shook his head. "Apparently I'm pretty awful at dealing with other people's feelings and stuff…"

"Having a hard time with Jules?" Spike asked as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and Sam pretended not to notice.

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "Yeah, it's pretty rough right now. The whole understanding-girls-thing is hard enough on a good day, but right now…" He trailed off for a moment, then continued frankly, "I'm a bit lost."

"I don't think I can be of much help to you with that," Spike said. "Just – just let Jules know that I asked about her, yeah? Let her know we're thinking of her."

"I will."

"You biking home today?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We're supposed to get some thunderstorms later."

Sam glanced down at his watch. "I should make it. I'm not going far."

"See you tomorrow, then."

"You too."

Sam was lost in thought as he pedaled through the busy downtown streets to Jules's house, halting at an intersection.

_I've been spending almost all of my time at her house lately. We always just assumed that I'd move in with her at some point…_

The wind whipped through his hair as he crossed the street and picked up pace in the rapidly cooling air.

_Maybe we should find a new place together, when this whole thing is over. If it ever ends…_

White droplets of rain touched his face as he pulled up before Jules's familiar abode. Glancing appraisingly at the grey sky, Sam wheeled his bike into the garage to protect it from the coming storm. Then he took the stairs two at a time and let himself in very quietly, because according to the silver car parked out front, Dr. Ruth was still here with Jules.

He had almost reached the second floor landing when he heard Jules's raised voice from within. Curious, he softly climbed the last few steps and listened.

"_I just want it to stop! Can't you just make it go away?"_

She sounded agitated.

"_There is no magic wand to wave, Jules. Healing is a process which takes time, and until then you'll have to accept the lot that you're dealing with. There's no second option, Jules."_

He could hear Jules begin to pace – or resume pacing, more likely.

"_I hate it. I hate this, this awful fear, this constant anxiety, I'm – I'm choking on it, I'm vomiting it!"_

"_Jules, I know it's not pleasant, but these are actually normal reactions right now. This is how your body reacts to situations that arise."_

"_It never used to! I never used to get so freaked out by things!"_

"_You've changed. You are the sum total of your experiences, Jules, and you've been through some very difficult experiences."_

"_Well, I hate that I can't control my own emotions!"_

"_You can control it, Jules. When you step away from the situation, when you breathe through the feeling – this is you taking control."_

"_But I don't WANT this in the first place!"_

She was sounding more and more upset.

"_Jules, you can't just skip your first reaction, your human reaction. You can only accept it, and then control what your second, cognizant reaction is."_

Jules was silent, but Sam could still hear her pacing.

"_All right, Jules, our time is up, but I want you to remember – you've got homework from me, your three-step reaction after your instinctual one kicks in. First, excuse yourself and step away from the situation that's causing the anxiety. Then I want you to breathe through it – just focus on deep, relaxing breaths. And thirdly, communicate. Go to whomever it was that was agitating you and talk it through. You're in control, Jules."_

Hearing the doctor rise from her seat, Sam guiltily retreated a few steps down the stairs to appear as if he were just arriving. The door opened a moment later, and he nodded in greeting as the doctor passed him on her way down the stairs. He climbed the last few steps and entered the living room, hearing the front door close downstairs.

Jules was standing in front of the window, hugging herself tightly. Sam crossed the room and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her securely.

They stood and watched as the light rain increased in tempo to a steady downpour.

"I didn't make dinner."

It was a confession.

"We'll order takeout."

Absolution.

The sky darkened to an inky black as the rain pounded down from the skies in silvery sheets.

For an hour - perhaps it was less, perhaps more - the two figures stood silently in front of the window and simply watched the rain.


End file.
